


Unbreakable

by atotalthrowawayaccount



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atotalthrowawayaccount/pseuds/atotalthrowawayaccount
Summary: He once was known as Rost of the Nora, one of the tribe's greatest Braves.  There is nothing left of that man now.





	1. Intuition

**Author's Note:**

> I’m ecstatic that I could partake in the ‘HZD Secret Santa 2018’ and I can’t wait for what the future holds. 
> 
> Just a heads up: this story is pretty intense in some areas. There’s a lot of violence, and it’s explicitly mentioned too. I know that may not be everyone else’s cup of tea and I’m sorry if it has offended anyone.

“The Carja border appears to be secured for the moment, Rost.  Our daily scouting parties have not observed any movement from King Jiran’s Kestrels for the past fortnight.”

 

Rost only makes a grunt of acknowledgement to his fellow hunter as the small party continues their patrol of the Embrace’s most western lands.  Though isolated from many of the comforts that were in the heart of the All-Mother’s domain, the Nora that lived at the fringe of the Sacred Lands in Mother’s Vigil acted as the first guard against any invasions and were thus considered invaluable to the tribe.  For the past year, the Carja Empire’s Kestrels had begun a violent and unpredictable assault, pillaging the tribe folk’s homeland and killing or enslaving any innocent and helpless Nora who were unfortunate enough to be discovered by the conquerors.

 

In the past few months however, King Jiran’s dreaded raids had slowly trickled down into near nothingness; in fact during the last few weeks there had only been a few attacks and all of them were virtually unsuccessful.  For an empire that prided itself on its achievements and power, it was very unlike the Carja to fail so fantastically.  Though a religious man, Rost also wasn’t oblivious nor ignorant to the happenings that occurred around him.  It was clear to the veteran hunter that something else was amiss but he couldn’t quite discern the exact source.  His honed instinct told him that something was roiling underneath the surface—and it was significant enough to cause even the powerful Carja empire to back down.  Despite what the patrols reported, Rost’s intuition told him that he still needed to be on guard.

 

“We keep moving until we have completely swept over our lands, Whelk.  No matter what we observe from our sentries, there’s always a chance that there have been Carja parties that have entered our territory undetected.  Stay on guard, Braves.  Follow.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Aye, Rost!” the other hunters announce in unison, eager to return to their homes and families.  The chill sheer of winter could already be felt by the tribespeople and the Nora hunters were all eager to return to a reliable shelter before the frigid night fell upon them.  The small party had been patrolling for the past three days and all of them were worried about being caught unawares by a sudden and severe shift in the weather patterns.  Each year there was always a handful of foolish Braves who failed to respect the unstoppable cold of winter—and paid the price with their lives.  These stories, and the bodies found after the melt, were always the ones that haunted the hunters’ thoughts as they prowled along the tree line, avoiding any potentially jumpy machines that could potentially give away their hidden location.

 

Rost had been on edge for the past two days, eager to get the patrol done as quickly and efficiently as possible.  This patrol wasn’t just to make sure that the borders of the Sacred Land were safe, it was also designed to help train the younger hunters for their future endeavors when they gained more independence.  The elder Brave had a family waiting at home, absolutely nothing would keep him away from his mate and daughter; especially not mistakes made by inexperienced younglings.  _I’m coming back home, Alana.  And when I do, we’ll make your first hunter bow so you can join me during the winter hunts—just as I promised we would._

 

* * *

 

 

As the patrol circled the lake that lay to the south of his village, Rost couldn’t help but admire the beauty of this corner in the Sacred Lands.  Mother’s Vigil was surrounded by beautiful, lush green fauna that continuously provided a bountiful hunt and harvest to the followers of All-Mother.  A large, rugged mountain range surrounded the valley and offered protection from the worst of the weather and offered strategic positioning from the worst of the Carja raids.  The valley was populated by a plethora of docile machines that rarely caused any problems for the village and its soil provided abundant land to grow crops.  It was a peaceful haven and Rost knew he was lucky enough to be blessed to live in such a marvelous location.  Despite the serenity of the view, however, something was telling him that this was a fabricated peace.

 

“Rost, you appear uneasy.  You should relax, there’s been no signs of attack from any of our enemies lately.”

 

Rost turns around and sees the youngest hunter in the group grinning at him.  At only eighteen, Mikale had just completed his trial of the Proving, placing in at an impressive third.  His performance had allowed him to become a regular with the main hunting and patrol parties that roamed the most dangerous parts of the Nora-Carja border.  Mikale had been brash and eager to engage in any combat that presented the opportunity to hone his newfound skills—no challenge was deemed too daunting for him to try to best.

 

“A false sense of security breeds complacency, young Brave.  Though we have not seen any dangers with our own eyes that doesn’t mean they aren’t hiding in the shadows, unseen and waiting for the proper opportunity to attack.”

 

Mikale laughs jovially, finding humor in the old man’s overly cautious demeanor.  Though held to the highest esteem amongst his fellow hunters Rost was known to be almost overtly strict in his adherence to the rules set by the Matriarchs and the teachings of All-Mother.  It was often a subject of teasing towards the grizzled, stoic man.  “Rost, even if there was danger within our lands, there is nothing that we cannot fight when we have the blessing of All-Mother on our side.”

 

“Don’t be so sure, Mikale.  If we were as infallible as you say we are, we would have already beaten the Carja and any other invaders that have raided us a multitude of times in the past.  Stay on guard and do not lose focus.”

 

The rest of the hunters become more noticeably subdued at Rost’s words, and the elder Brave can easily see how his words demoralized the others.  _Being too eager is dangerous but destroying the desire to fight for something important, even more so; it was unwise to shame Mikale_.  Sensing that his words may have been too harsh for the rest of the men Rost lightens his tone considerably with his next words.

 

“That being said, our forces are considerable and we have strongly discouraged any would-be invaders in our lands.  The tales of our strength and a multitude of blessings from the All-Mother have given us the power needed to keep our people safe.”

 

Upon Rost’s encouragement the mood instantly shifts and he can tell that the rest of the Brave’s spirits have been lifted.  Seeing this, Rost knows that he had made the correct decision to take the extra time to reengage his compatriots.  “Now, let’s keep our focus and finish our patrol.  Our village is depending on us to keep them safe and with the All-Mother’s blessing backing us we’ll have the strength needed to fight of any threats we may encounter.”

 

* * *

 

As the hunting party nears the village Rost can sense that something is wrong, as if his whole body was falling without actually moving.  It’s not something that the man can logically define, but someone with as much experience as Rost knew better than to ignore his intuition.  It had saved him many a time (managing to dodge a horde of stampeding Striders spooked by another reckless Brave during one of his first hunts was a memory that stood out to him every time he even thought of ignoring his gut) and was one of the many reasons why he was regarded as one of the best hunters the Nora had to offer.

 

“Braves.  Halt.”  Rost’s whispers harshly though the trees, instantly stopping the march and taking time to assess their surroundings.  Looking around he can see how the skies have been painted an ethereal smoky grey, as if there was burning somewhere nearby.  Taking in a deep breath the slight taste of charcoal permeated his senses, causing his stomach to drop to the earth.  _It’s almost winter and it rained only a few nights ago.  There shouldn’t be any forest fires this time of the year._

 

Rost wasn’t exactly sure what was happening but he was aware that something was amiss.

 

“Braves, we move silently and hide in the shadows and flora for the rest of our journey back.  If we encounter any enemies, human or machine, do not attack unless on my signal.”

 

“Is something wrong, Rost?” Mikale queries.  Though he tried valiantly, the young Brave could not entirely hide the fear that underlied his words and Rost couldn’t blame him.  Though eager to enter battle, Mikale also owned an appropriate fear of death for his age and showed enough wisdom and caution that had aided in surviving so far.

 

“Yes, but I am not sure what it is.  Stay sharp and do not let yourself be struck without notice.”

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the short journey towards Mother’s Vigil was traversed in complete silence, the tension so thick that it could have been sliced clean through by a well-shot precision arrow.   Everyone knew that this was no longer any ordinary hunt, even the most inexperienced of the Braves could feel the sense of foreboding that grew stronger as they slowly approached Mother’s Vigil.  Dread seeped through each of their beings as the neared the village, seeing the plumes grow thicker in the sky as they inched their way through the trees, desperately trying to ascertain what could have caused the source of the smoke.  When the hunting party finally cleared the forest and observed the state of Mother’s Vigil, they all stop dead in their tracks before crying out in rage and pain.  The village, or what was left of it, was on fire and from their vantage on the opposite bank of the stream that ran parallel to the Mother’s Vigil, they could clearly see corpses of Nora victims lain out to the sun.  Screams of terror and the clash of spears echoed throughout the valley, indicating that whomever was behind this carnage was still in the midst of a seige.

 

_Alana.  My mate.  No!_


	2. Inconsolable

“Alana!  Stay close.  I know that there haven’t been any raids in the recent weeks but you never know what lurks just behind the trees.”

 

“Ugh, I know mom!  You don’t have to watch over me all the time!”

 

Alana jogged towards the trees that bordered Mother’s Vigil.  Rost had promised to help her construct her first hunting bow when he returned from patrol.  Alana, however, was always impatient and eager to complete any task at hand and so she wanted to have the wood and materials ready so the two of them could immediately start crafting her weapon.  Joining the hunt was considered one of the first rites of passage in the Nora and Alana was eager to test her mettle against the other children her age—and to finally live up to her parents’ reputations as some of the tribe’s greatest Braves.

 

“If you must go, please come back by the advent of sunset, at least.  Winter is coming and I don’t want you out on your own when night falls,” Alana’s mother calls out.  She had always loved Alana’s free-spirit, even though it could be difficult for her to parent the eccentric child, and never wanted her daughter to feel as though she was confined.  “I’ll have supper waiting for you so please don’t be late—you don’t want it to be cold after all!”

 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Alana chirped back, already running out of view from her mother and into the foliage beyond the village.  As she went deeper into the woods, Alana gradually slowed her pace until she ended up at a slow trot.  No matter how many times the young Nora went into the grove, she was always enamored at the wonders she saw.  The cries and grunts of the animals as they ran through the grasses or flew through the branches always had her looking carefully through the arbor, in awe at how they blended into the landscape.  She loved the way the light would play through the giant trees that canopied the ground, making it seem as though everything moved through a beautiful trance.  But her most favorite part was listening to the hum and whirr of the machines as they peacefully grazed in the forest and fields nearby.  Though Rost had always told her to never approach the machines directly, Alana could never help herself and would always try to get as close as she could to the gentle Striders, Broadheads, Lancehorns, or Grazers that roamed around the landscape of Mother’s Vigil.  Her village was truly blessed by the bounty of All-Mother and Alana was aware of how lucky she was to live in such a paradise.

 

After taking time to admire her homelands, Alana went about walking along the lower bushes, looking for sturdy branches that could possibly be the core base of her bow.  The young Nora strolled slowly along the forest floor, collecting a branch here or there and gathering up the odd bird feather or animal tooth that would be used as an embellishment on her first weapon.  Though any decor wasn’t part of the core structure, decorating her bow would grant an identity to the weapon that would set Alana apart for the next few years before she crafted a new one.

 

Once enough materials were gathered, she wasn’t completely sure that there really was enough in the basket but the young Nora had made an educated guess, Alana headed to her favorite and most secret spot in the woods.  She had stumbled across the small clearing one day when chasing after a stubborn fox that refused to stay still as she attempted her first ‘hunt.’  The clearing was surrounded by small boulders and tall grasses, a perfect place for a small girl like her to hide out undisturbed by anyone or anything.

 

Settling down in the soft grass, Alana looks up towards the sky, a small smile on her face.  Staring up at the clear, blue dome she almost couldn’t contain her excitement for her father’s return.  Their family was close-knit and she loved having both her mother and father nearby; her mother taught her patience and the rituals of the Nora while her father taught her how to be a future Brave.  Alana knew her future was bright and it was the thought of all that could be in the upcoming years that lulled her to sleep in the small clearing.

 

* * *

 

 _Smoke_.  The smell of thick, acrid plumes of ash jolted Alana awake and she looked around frantically at the clearing, looking for the source.  There was no immediate danger around her but when she looked up towards the sky she can see that what was formerly blue is now tinged a dirty red as the rays of the sun were broken by the clouds of smoke.  After assessing the area nearby, the Nora girl quickly gets up and gathers her things, rushing towards Mother’s Vigil to see what the commotion was.

 

As Alana gets closer to her village the roar of flames becomes unmistakable and through the crackling of the inferno she can make out distant screams and the clash of blades and arrows.  _We’re under attack! Is it the Carja?_   _What about my mother?  I need to get her out of there!_ Panicked, Alana rushes out of the glade, looking around at the horrors that had befallen the peaceful village.  Nora women and children scurried around, desperately looking and calling out for each other before they were struck down and joined the corpses of those who were not so lucky—many were already too late as the bodies of many innocent villagers littered the ground.  What few Braves were left in Mother’s Vigil fought valiantly against the shadowed intruders but it was clear even to Alana’s inexperienced eye that the Nora were fighting a losing battle.

 

Alana is snapped out of her trance when a shrill scream rings out near her position, she turns around just in time to see a young woman who was carrying a child being impaled by a spear and then falling heavily to the ground, unmoving.  Ducking under a bench, Alana can only watch helplessly as the child cries out for her parent to move again, urgently shaking her mother’s body and whimpering pitifully.  The sound of heavier footsteps causes the child to stop crying and she looks up in terror as a large figure comes into Alana’s view and looms over the other girl.

 

The savage standing over the child was an enormous man, whose garb was nothing like anything Alana had ever seen before.  Instead of the colorful, bird-like outfits of the Carja, this beast wore a short, black leather robe containing sharp metal plates that covered the arms and torso.  From underneath her hiding place Alana could see the wild, blood-red markings that wound over the attacker’s arms and legs and the Nora surmised that the war paint wasn’t actually paint at all.

 

“Sorry about your mother, little girl.”  The warrior’s voice was soft and clear yet devoid of any real emotion and Alana knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone—no matter how big or small.  “If she had just submitted, my brothers and sisters would have simply captured you two and you’d have been together.  As it is, we’ll just take you instead.”

 

The young girl tries to run away but is quickly knocked out by a blow to the head.  The beast picks her up and heads towards the center, where Alana surmises they were probably taking any other prisoners.  Once the coast seemed clear the Nora girl slid out from her hiding place and attempted to make her way back to her house, trying to see if her mother was still alive.  Using the benches as cover, Alana successfully maneuvered around the attackers, ignoring as much bloodshed and violence as possible and eventually reaching the backdoor to her cabin.  As soon as she entered a hand shot out and covered her mouth, muffling her scream.

 

“Shhhh, sweetheart it’s me,” her mother whispers, fear, pain, and urgency lacing the usually calm tone Alana instinctively knew.

 

Alana’s mother’s voice is a beacon of light in this hell and it has an immediate effect of calming down the distraught child.  The young girl reaches out and wraps her arms around her mom, crying gently into her shoulder.

 

“You’re alive!  I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you wait—”  Alana is cut off by her mother gently placing a finger on her lips.  There’s no anger or bitterness written on her mother’s features, only concern and love.  Taking a moment to look at her mother Alana can see that the older woman’s face and outfit are stained with blood—even with a daughter to tend to the Brave’s prowess in battle never wavered.  In any other situation the matriarch’s appearance would have terrified Alana but the perspective of the current situation had quelled any other fear.

 

“Little one, you have nothing to apologize for.  Right now we need to focus on leaving this village and flee as far away from these savages as possible.  I’ve packed a small basket for us, it will hopefully be enough to get us to Mother’s Heart, where we can alert the Matriarchs and—”

 

Her mother is cut off by the sound of pounding on the front door.  Multiple voices can be heard outside and the voice of one of the butchers sends a chill down both their spines.  Time is running out, they must go.

 

“We know that there are people in here.  Either surrender now and live as our captives, or find your blood soaking the very grounds you live on.  It’s your choice—I would advise you to choose wisely.”

 

Alana’s mother quickly grabs the small basket and pushes it into her daughter’s hands, frantically whispering instructions in hopes that her child would be able to escape.  “Alana, go out the back and run for the hills.  Hide in the forest and don’t come out until you can’t hear them anymore.  I will distract them by answering the front door and give you time to flee.”

 

Tears well in Alana’s eyes—even at age six she is well aware that these are most likely her mother’s final words to her.  Her final sacrifice to in order to keep her offspring alive.

 

“Mother I—”

 

“Go, Alana!  And don’t look back!” She pushes Alana out the door and closes it, leaving the Nora girl alone.  Turning away from her lodge, Alana begins to run towards the river and thereby safety but before she can reach the bank an arm of steel wraps around her waist.  It doesn’t budge even when she tries to bite down on her captor’s hand.

 

“Where do you think you’re going, you little rat?” This captor was a woman and instead of the calm tones of the previous bandit, she had a nasty and overtly evil tone underlying her words.  Alana could tell that this woman was particularly enjoying the carnage she was wreaking on the defenseless Nora.

 

“Our leader gave you a chance to surrender but instead you and your mother decided to try to trick us,” the invader hisses as she carries the struggling Alana back to the village.  “You shouldn’t have played games with us, scum.  Now you’ll pay the price.”

 

As the warrior returned to the village Alana can finally see the aftermath of the slaughter.  Whoever was left from the initial carnage had been rounded up in the center of Mother’s Virgil and chained into a long line of Nora prisoners who held their heads down in fear, avoiding eye contact with the capturers.  As the final few prisoners were locked into the line, Alana could see that one kneeling woman was instead left out of cuffs, hands bound behind her by rope.  _Mother!_

 

Alana’s mother looks up as she hears the woman arrive and her eyes widen in horror when she sees what has happened.  A howl of agony rips through the air as she calls out to her daughter and the captors, begging for mercy.

 

“Alana!  No!”  Turning towards the leader, who happened to be the man Alana saw earlier, the woman pleaded for mercy.  “Please, let her go.  She is but a child who has her whole life ahead of her.  I will do anything but please, release her.”

 

The leader of the bandits reaches out towards Alana’s mother, gently stroking her hair and speaking calmly.  “I understand, you’re afraid.  Afraid for your life but mostly for your child’s.  But you’re also foolish.  If you had just surrendered and allowed us to capture you two, we wouldn’t have to hurt you.  As it is, a lesson must be taught to our new captives about how we treat disobedience.”

 

Before anyone can truly process what happens, the leader draws out a serrated knife and slashes her throat, letting her bleed out slowly on the very grounds she held sacred.  Alana can hear screaming, it drowns out any thoughts she may have.  _Gone. Gone. GONE.  Mother._  It takes a while for her to realize that the shrieks she hears are her own—cries of primal despair, of a child losing her mother.

 

As Alana’s hands are placed into the chains she hears another howl that epitomizes rage and grief and can only recognize it as Rost’s, though it is a sound unlike anything she has ever heard her usually docile father make.  A bevy of arrows volleys towards the twelve bandits and manages to strike a few of them in their extremities, causing a wave of curses from the angry savages.  Alana looks towards the source of the arrows and sees her father’s hunting party approach, their bows drawn and aimed at the villains.  Rost takes aim at the leader, staring him down before bellowing, “Release the hostages, or face the wrath of All-Mother and Nora Braves, outlanders!”

 

* * *

 

 

Rost had seen his fair share of carnage and violence, the two concepts were not in any way foreign to him.  The grizzled Brave had participated in countless battles, killing any invaders that had threatened his homeland and as a hunter Rost had seen his fair share of accidents leading to either permanent disfigurement, and at the worst, death. 

 

But nothing had prepared him for what he was seeing now.

 

The bodies of innocent men, women, and children of all ages were strewn carelessly across the village and fields surrounding Mother’s Virgil, mangled by horrific violence and left to rot in the sun—fodder for any animals and to be forgotten without a proper burial.  The metallic smell of blood and heavy ash overwhelmed their nostrils and a few of the greener Braves had even retched at the overwhelming bombardment of death.  So much loss, so much pain and all to senseless violence; there would be significant mourning for those who were lost in the initial attack and for those who would die even afterwards.  The Nora’s losses they suffered after this invasion would be irreplaceable and unspeakable.

 

Yet despite all of the signs of destruction as they neared the center of the village, the true cost of what had occurred did not impact Rost until he had seen the blood of his mate paint the ground a gruesome red while his only daughter was shackled to a chain of prisoners.  Time stood still and it seemed as though the entire world had focused on the only two people that mattered most to Rost.  _All-Mother, this can’t be happening._

Snapping out of his trance, Rost again focuses his vitriol towards the leader of the bandits, his bow and arrow aimed carefully between the killer’s eyes.  The rest of the Braves followed the elder hunter’s lead and made sure to keep aim on the rest of the invaders as Rost attempted to negotiate an acceptable agreement between the two standing parties.

 

“This isn’t a request, bandit.  Release your prisoners.  I don’t know why you’re here but your trespassing has marked you for death.  You will get one chance to choose what to do what is right—you get to decide how painful your death is.” 

 

The other man smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes.  In fact, the leader may as well have been made of stone as there was no real reaction to the words thrown his way despite the fact that he had a dozen of arrows aimed at him.  The Braves could have sworn they almost saw amusement painted on his features.

 

“You’re a fool, Nora savages,” he murmured softly.  There was no anger, nor tremor to his words.  He was in complete control of the situation despite the seemingly lopsided odds against him.  “Your goddess does not scare us.  Your ‘army’ does not give us pause.  We have and will do whatever we wish on your lands—you cannot stop us.”

 

He reaches forward and grabs one of the Nora prisoners, an older man who Rost recognized as one of the fishermen of the village, places the captive in front of his body so the tribesman faces the other Brave, and holds a knife to the innocent man’s throat.

 

“You threaten us with no leverage in your hands.  You enter a fight with wooden swords for weapons.  Such, arrogance.”

 

The leader jerks his hand, slashing the throat of the older man as the other captives scream at the sudden show of violence.  The bandit drops the old man ceremoniously to the ground and then heads back to the line of captives and standing over them pensively, as if he was choosing what garb to wear that day.  Reaching forward again, the leader chooses his victim and when Rost sees who it is, his blood runs cold.

 

“This young girl, I found her trying to escape.  Her mother attempted to distract us while this whelp ran out the back door.  We caught her, alive as you see; her mother wasn’t as lucky.”

 

The knife at Alana’s throat presses deeper into her skin, drawing a slight trickle of blood that slowly runs down her neck and to the necklace that Rost had gifted for her sixth birthday only a few months ago.  Upon this sight, Rost knew that he had lost—there was nothing else they could do.

 

“Lower your weapons, savages,” the leader says softly.  “Let us go and we will let half of our captives go.  Think of them as—insurance—so that you do not go after us when we leave this filth.”

 

“You expect us to believe you?  If we lower our weapons how do we not know if you plan to strike us down after?”

 

“Your doubt is wise, Brave.  But I didn’t come here to die today.  As a gesture of goodwill, I will have my comrades unlock half of them now.  Once that has been done, you will lower your weapons or we’ll kill _all_ of the prisoners where they stand.”

 

It’s a cruel numbers game and Rost knows it but as the chief Brave of Mother’s Vigil, the responsibility for choices like this lie on his shoulders.  And he acknowledged tactically that it was better to save half of the prisoners left than to have all of them die.

 

“Very well, release half of the prisoners and we will let you go.  For now,” Rost spits out.  He can only hope that his gamble pays off, that ultimately his decision will keep Alana safe one way or another.

 

The bandit leader nods and then gestures for one of his fellow conquerors to unlock half of the prisoners.  The process seems to take forever but true to their word half of the prisoners were released.  They all ran towards the Braves, hiding behind their ranks and watching timidly from their hiding place.  Once all were behind the barricade, Rost was satisfied, if there could be a thing in such a situation, but a certain person was missing that would have made the deal safer on his end.

 

“The girl.  Let her go.  She’s only a child—not a pawn in this sick game you play.”

 

“Oh no, savage.  I said half, you get half.  Besides, a child gives me additional leverage to prevent you from trying anything—suspicious—wouldn’t you say?”

 

“You—” Rost tries to spit out but he was quickly interrupted by the invader.

 

“This is not up for re-negotiation, scum.”  It’s faint but Rost can hear anger starting to weave through the bandit leader’s voice.  The threat of violence was enough to hold him back from lashing out violently at the invaders.  “You are lucky that you even got half of your people back, do not push your luck.”

 

As if on cue, three of the bandits hurled bombs towards the rest of the Nora, creating a massive explosion that caused the Braves and the freed captives to be flung violently away from the initial blast radius.  Rost can feel himself being propelled through the air before violently hitting the wall of a nearby house, the impact so forceful that he began slipping away from consciousness.  _Alana, I’m sorry, I failed you and my mate.  I promise that wherever you go, I will follow. You will not die._

 

* * *

 

 

“Rost, can you hear me?  Rost!”  The sound of panicked shouting slowly rouses the rattled Brave from his stupor and the older Nora can discern Mikale’s voice from the void.

 

“Mikale, I’m fine.  Thank you.”  Looking around Rost attempts to gather pieces of what happened.  All he can remember before blacking out was smoke, fire, death, an explosion, and _Alana.  No._   _No!_

 

Turning towards Mikale, Rost stares desperately at the young hunter, hopeful for anything that would help him find his lost daughter.  “The rest of the freed captives and braves?  What of them?  Where did the bandits and other Nora go?  Answer!”

 

Visibly shaken by the emotional outburst from the usually stoic Brave, Mikale takes a second to compose himself before tentatively answering.  “The Braves and villagers that the captives released are safe.  Minus a few minor injuries and concussions, they should be fine.”

 

“And the rest of the villagers?  Alana?  Where is she?”

 

Mikale turns away, grief written on his features.  “I’m so sorry, Rost.  They were gone before any of us could chase after them.  I sent a few Braves to try to find a trail but as far as we know, the captives and perpetrators could be anywhere.”

 

Mikale continues to try to update Rost but he might as well have talked to a wall.  Nothing he said could console the grieving man, who had lost everything trying to save as many people as possible.  Upon realizing failure to save everyone and the kidnapping of his daughter a broken and utterly inhuman howl arises from his chest, echoing throughout the night.  If Rost could not protect his own family, how could he protect the tribe?

 

_All-Mother, Alana, forgive me._


	3. Irredeemable

The tombstone Rost chose for his mate’s grave was simple and yet well-decorated.  Rost’s partner had never been one for extravagance and vanity and the Nora hunter wished to honor his mate’s wishes—even when she had passed from life.  Closing his eyes, Rost takes time to grieve amongst his surroundings, passively taking in information.

 

The Nora had immediately began to repair what remained of Mother’s Vigil and had buried as many innocent victims as possible in individual graves.  The mournful chants of prayers to those who were headed to the afterlife rang through the air and there was an ethereal light around the valley as candles and lanterns were lit as a way to guide the departed towards peace.  Opening his eyes, Rost can only stare helplessly at his mate’s grave; he couldn’t believe that he’d held her in his arms only a few days ago.  The Brave felt unfathomable grief, acknowledging that because of the circumstances, he wouldn’t be able to give his deceased mate a proper burial ceremony—there were intruders in the Sacred Land and it was his responsibility to defeat them.  _And find Alana, if it’s my final act on this world._

 

“Rost, our patrols have returned.  Or at least, half of them.”  Mikale timidly walks up behind the experienced hunter, loathe to disturb him as the weight of Rost’s sorrow fills the air.  “They arrive with news of the intruders, All-Mother be praised.”

 

The announcement surprises Rost, not because he had doubts about his other Brave’s abilities but because of how quickly they had returned.  As soon as Rost had recovered from the initial encounter with the bandits, the head Brave had sent out two patrols that same night, tasking them with trying to discover where the intruders had set up camp and held the Nora prisoners.  It had only taken them six hours to come back with information, and from the looks on the three Braves’ faces that were walking up behind Mikale, it wasn’t good news.

 

“Thank you, Mikale.  You have all done good work; what have you discovered?”

 

The other four Braves bow slightly and then deliver the news to Rost.  “Our findings are pyrrhic in nature.  We have found the invaders and so far as we can discern, the prisoners are still alive. But they are nigh untouchable as they have found refuge in Devil’s Thirst.  We would be cursed if we entered the ruins of the Old Ones and All-Mother would turn her back to us.  The reality is that there may be nothing we can do unless we obtain permission from the Matriarchs to enter the forbidden ruins.”

 

The news causes Rost’s gut to sink.  The bandits were not foolhardy and had learned the ways of the Nora well.  By managing to create an outpost where they were not allowed to go it essentially gave the intruders free reign to do whatever they wanted, and on Nora lands no less.

 

“It doesn’t end there.  We managed to get close to the party and were about to strike, but it was all for naught.  One of the bandits must have seen us move into position for as soon as we were to attack  they mercilessly killed two more hostages without a second thought—looking right at our hiding spots.  We tried to get to get closer at another time but they again slaughtered two more of our people.  Half of our patrol stayed near the boundaries of Devil’s Thirst to monitor the bandits but we refuse to go further unless prompted to.”

 

The gnawing feeling at Rost’s gut continues to grow at the patrol’s words and his mind scrambles to find a way to resolve the situation.  But before he could make any decisions he had to know one thing.

 

“I know this is selfish, but I must know.  Alana, is she…?”

 

“As far as we know from the last time we managed to get a glimpse of the Nora captives, the bandits have kept her alive.  Five others are still alive too.  For whatever reason, the bandits have decided to keep them alive.”

 

Rost lets out a sigh of relief, as if a massive weight had lifted from his shoulders. With the news of his daughter’s survival, the Brave felt a new surge of confidence and energy.  He knew now what needed to happen.

 

“Mikale, gather half of the Braves in the village but make sure to leave enough to have a solid defense at Mother’s Vigil.  Then, pack a week’s worth of supplies.  We head out towards Devil’s Thirst in an hour and will remain near the bandit’s camp until they can no longer stay in our lands.  An exception must be made.  We will save our people, no matter what it takes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rost’s party reaches the edges of Devil’s Thirst at dawn.  The metal skeletons of the abandoned monoliths loomed ominously over the Nora, acting as a direct warning of the dangers hidden within the ruins.  But there was no turning back, no getting cold feet now.  They were on a mission and many had already accepted that this was may be one they didn’t return from; no matter how long it took or what violence occurred the Nora Braves swore that they would not allow the invaders to leave their land unpunished.

 

Mikale walks up to Rost and debriefs him on the bandits’ location.  “They’ve made their camp in a large building that overlooks the Ring of Metal to the west, to the very border of our lands beyond the endless waters.”

 

Rost nods and climbs a small metal wreckage, giving him an elevated position to assess the terrain and attempt to find a strategic vantage to surround the intruders.  Once done, he climbs down and gathers the Braves around to discuss his plan.

 

“There’s a small, elevated hill to the north of the Ring of Metal.  There’s a small clearing that’s surrounded by trees; it will provide shelter and cover from the bandits and will allow us to get close without being detected.  The foliage will also enable us to send small patrols around the building from afar.  No matter what happens, do not approach the building directly unless we are directly attacked.”

 

The Braves indicate their understanding and follow Rost, making sure to stay low and hidden in the tall grasses as they made their way to the planned outpost.  Once they had reached the location they all settled in and fortified the location, confirming that each of them had precise shifts that protected their camp while also keeping watch over the bandits’ fort.  Even though the Nora were intimately acquainted with the entire Sacred Lands and had the strategical position, none of them felt entirely in control of the situation.  Both the base and the camp were mired in a thick fog of apprehension, fear, and anxiety and there was a general sense of foreboding as the hours tortuously ticked by.  Not only were they stalking after intruders who had brashly entered Nora lands without pause and killed without hesitation, the Braves were also trespassing on the ruins of the Old Ones, which was forbidden by the Matriarchs and cursed by the All-Mother.  It was clear that they weren’t supposed to be here and could only pray for mercy—if any still existed.

 

* * *

 

 

Keeping guard during the night was considerably worse.  Even the experienced Braves were jumpy at the slightest of movements, which caused all the hunters to raise their bow and ready themselves for any threat that might emerge from within the shadows.  Even the slight rustling of branches in the wind sounded ominous, as though the Nora were entirely surrounded by enemies that were waiting to kill them.

 

But the worst part of the night was the sounds coming from the bandit camp, if they could even be called that.  The noises coming from the fort were like nothing the Nora had ever heard, as if someone had ripped open the gates to the afterlife and let forth the demons of both metal and flesh.  Among the howls was the metallic clang of hammers on steel and the crackle of an inferno that was so bright it could be seen all the way from the hill.  It was all incredibly insidious and was only indicative of bad omens to come.

 

Rost can only watch and hear the sights leaking from the makeshift prison angrily, helpless to do anything as the bandits kept the other six Nora hostage.  As he watches the inferno, he hears the cracking of breaking branches to his right and pulls out his bow towards the disturbance.  The grizzled man ceases drawing his arrow when he realizes that it’s Mikale, the young man’s arms up in a sign of peace.

 

“It’s only me, Rost. I’m sorry if I startled you, that wasn’t my intent.”

 

Unarming his bow, Rost gives Mikale a half-hearted smile.  “It’s alright, Mikale. I am just worried, is all.  We have no idea who these bastards are and what they want but they seem to know everything about us.  It’s upsetting, to say the least.”

 

There’s an awkward pause.  Mikale had only seen Rost as unbreakable, stoic, and always sure of what to do.  The young hunter had never seen Rost so vulnerable as he had now.

 

“I’m…sorry about your loss.  About your mate, your daughter.  I don’t she wouldn’t blame you for what happened to Alana—and I know that Alana loves you, no matter what.”

 

Rost can only nod in acknowledgment.  Talking about the destruction of his family and village was still difficult when the wound was so fresh, the young Brave seemed to understand that.  The two stood in silence while looking at the bandits’ enclosure from afar, hoping against all odds that they would receive some blessing by the All-Mother to save their people and purge the evil from their lands.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day isn’t that much different than the first and had passed with little to no excitement, but Rost can tell that the wait is already starting to negatively affect the Braves as they quietly waited and lay siege to the bandits’ enclosure.  Despite the other hunter’s insistence when asked, Rost could see the cracks starting to show and knew that if something didn’t change it could easily cause them all to break.  It took all of Rost’s strength to keep his men focused and motivated to continue, the last thing he wanted was psychologically broken and distracted hunters.

 

The night was even worse.  The sounds coming from the camp were even more hellish and seemed to permeate the Nora’s very bones and souls causing all the Braves fits.  Some managed to find sleep but others opted to undergo more patrols in order to keep their mind occupied while the intruders seemed to dance around the gates of hell.  It took the urging of many of Rost’s hunters to tell him that he needed to rest, if not for himself than for Alana’s sake so that he could stay as alert as possible if the worst came to be.  The harried man fell asleep, dreaming of his family and the hope that he and Alana could return to some semblance of normalcy once this was all over.

 

* * *

 

 

When Rost awoke the next morning, he knew that something was wrong—it was all too quiet.  No noise came from the sleeping Nora lying next to him but that was not what worried him.  It was what he didn’t hear that made his skin crawl.  The bandits’ camp was mute, not a single sound could be heard from within.  The valley was serene and empty, almost as if a storm was coming.  It was eerie and perverted and when Rost fully realized why the fort was silent his whole world stopped. 

“No!”

 

Rost runs towards the encampment.  He hears the other Braves call his name, feels their hands try to hold him back as he flings them off; there was nothing on this earth that could have stopped him.  As he enters the camp he doesn’t take time to look around, he doesn’t need to.  He needs to find _her._ _Alana._

 

He sees the remains of a massive bonfire, with large scraps of metal and burnt animal meat strewn about the edges.  Strange diagrams are engraved on the ground and a massive pool of what Rost can only assume is blood leads away from the campfire.  The world turns grey as he follows the trail of maroon that leads back towards a massive cairn of rock and steel—where laid around it in a circle are the bodies of the Nora prisoners.

 

Rost knows what he’s going to see, but for some sick reason wants to confirm it.  He has to see _her_ with his own eyes.  Circling the bodies, the Brave finally finds the lifeless body, small and cold.  The hunter drops to his knees, picking up Alana and holding his daughter close to his chest, experiencing a pain he didn’t think even existed.  The pain of losing his mate paled in comparison to the loss of his only child; the daughter he had poured his hopes and dreams into. The daughter that he had held immediately after her birth, who had walked her first steps when trying to reach for her favorite straw Grazer, who’s first words were ‘mama’, and who wanted to be a hunter.  All of _her_ gone, and just a body left.

 

“Rost…” Mikale’s voice, wavering and uncertain, brings Rost back to his body—but there is only a husk to return to.   “Rost, we need to find the bandits, where they went and—”

 

“…Go.”

 

“I’m sorry, but…”

 

“Go!”  It’s not quite a howl and not quite a whimper, but it’s all Rost can say.  There’s nothing more for him to do right now but mourn.  “Search for their trail but do not follow.  We have lost enough Nora over the last few days.  I will stay here, bury them where they cannot be disturbed any longer.”

 

Mikale nods and gathers the other braves to head out and search for any clues to where the twelve bandits had gone, leaving Rost with the Nora bodies.  There would be no proper burial for any of them, they were tainted by the sin of the Old Ones after all, and Rost took it upon himself to give them honor even if there were no witnesses.

 

* * *

 

 

Their graves are unmarked, hidden within the metal of Devil’s Thirst, where Rost hoped that neither machine nor man would disturb the prisoners’ resting places.  The forlorn Brave went through the motions as he recited the burial prayers that would lead the rest of the Nora to the afterlife, where he hoped the All-Mother was waiting for them with open arms.  As he carved the simple glyphs that would mark their tombstones he couldn’t bear how cruel fate had been to his tribe lately.  So many Nora, left alone in death away from their loved ones and ancestors—it was abhorrent and violated countless sacred tenants of the tribe’s rituals.

 

The last burial Rost performed was Alana’s.  He may have been violating many Nora traditions but at this junction they no longer mattered.  His child’s life had been violently taken, leaving his as nothing but ashes.  Finding a small wooded area that opened up to the sky, Rost buried his daughter as far away as possible from Devil’s Thirst.  Reciting the prayers of departure and lighting makeshift candles made out of nearby grasses, Rost sent his daughter’s soul to the afterlife and with it, all his hopes and dreams for her. 

 

As the last candle snuffed out, and the final prayer recited, the Brave fell to his knees, defeated and hollow.  What remained was a void, nothing.  Everything that he had loved was destroyed and his life devoid of meaning.  _Almost_.

 

He feels something new flowing through his veins, something he’s rarely felt before. _Vengeance and hate._  He hates the twelve and wants nothing but to see their blood flow, retribution for the carnage and senseless violence they caused.  Now, there was nothing more that he wanted.  Nothing more than to see the pain and fear in their eyes as they felt the cruel and cold hand of death on their throats.  He knew what it meant, he’d have to leave the Sacred Land.  The invaders wouldn’t hide out in Nora territory now that their leverage was gone.  No, they would have left their lands, daring to think they would be safe.  But they were foolish, they didn’t know as much about the Nora as they thought.  They were not safe from someone as skilled as Rost.  No, they would be running _away_ from a demon, from a being blessed by death itself.  _There will be no escape for them_.


	4. The Ghost

_“Rost, I have heard of the tragedy that befell Mother’s Vigil_.  _Words cannot describe the pain we all feel and I extend my greatest condolences out to you and the survivors.  If there is anything the matriarchs can do—”_

_“There is one thing, Teersa,” Rost says, his voice inlaid with steel.  “It has been spoken of only in Nora legends, a right no one would dare take unless desperate and with nothing to lose.”_

_Teersa stares stonily at Rost, the apprehension written on her features indicating that she knew what he was going to ask.  She had performed many rituals and rites as a Matriarch and had seen many terrors; but never had she given a Nora the right to leave the lands in vengeance.  Seekers, yes.  But not because they wanted blood to be spilled to the ground in hatred._

_“Rost, what you ask…you understand that once given the title you seek you’ll never be allowed in Nora society again?  You’ll forever be an outcast and not even allowed back in the Sacred Lands.  It’s a dangerous desire and—”_

_“I do not care anymore, Teersa.  My life in Nora lands ended when my family was taken from me; when I held my mate’s and Alana’s bodies in my arms, lifeless and devoid of their spirit.  And so I ask again, give me the title I seek and let me avenge the Nora.  If not just for me, then for the entire tribe.”_

_Teersa inhales deeply and closes her eyes.  She never thought it would come to this, who would dare attack the Nora, whose prowess as warriors discouraged many a traveler from even looking at their lands?  And now, she loses one of their best hunters and Braves.  This truly was a dark time for the Nora._

_Nodding, Teersa ascents, knowing the benefits outweigh the risks.  “Very well, Rost.  If that is what you want, I cannot deny it to you.  Rost of the Nora, I strip you of the title of Nora Brave.  From now on, you are acknowledged the title of Death Seeker, your purpose to strike vengeance upon those who assaulted the tribe.  Upon the completion of your task, you are no longer welcome in Nora lands—the pain of death is what awaits you if these stipulations are violated.  Do you understand?”_

_Rost takes closes his eyes and thinks of all he lost in the last few days.  His home, his mate and daughter, his dignity.  There is nothing left for him here now, only the taste of vengeance and hatred that he flows through his body.  This is what he is destined for now—there is no turning back._

_“I accept the title of Death Seeker, Teersa.  From here on out I am no longer Rost of the Nora but rather, The Death Seeker, Rost.  I strike out today, a living embodiment of vengeance for the tribe.”_

_“I accept your declaration, Death Seeker. Your mark will be given to you as you leave Mother’s Heart.  From here on out, you are no longer welcome on Nora lands and will be struck down if you attempt to talk to anyone of our tribe.  I wish you well on your journey, fallen one.”_

* * *

Rost remembers first seeing the empty roads beyond the Sacred Lands.  He never knew how unfrequented they were, devoid of life and full of dangers at every step.  The beautiful, green landscape of the Nora lands were a paradise that spoke of life and harmony, not the cruelty and harshness like the outlands were.  There was nothing sacred in this land, only a lost people and world that was without the blessing of the All-Mother.  Despite his status as Death Seeker, Rost knew that he did not belong here, and his heart yearns for the Sacred Lands.

 

But he also remembers his triumphs.  The last twelve months had been a grueling challenge that had pushed him to the brink.  He remembers very little of it, other than the fact that the only pleasure he had found through his trials was the slaughter of the bandits, one by one.  He knew it was a sickness that permeated his being; no being born in the Embrace should find pleasure in death.  Yet the man was no longer Rost of the Nora, but a spectre of who he once was.

 

* * *

  

_When the bandits first saw Rost, the Death Seeker saw something on their faces he never thought he’d be witness of.  Fear.  He was the unknown, the abnormality that defied their understanding of what the Nora were.  And he relished it.  He found pleasure in seeing their horror as he quickly drew two arrows and maimed two the bandits, their screams of pain music to his ears.  He saw them disperse, leaving their ‘comrades’ to die alone as they tried to save themselves.  Let them run; they’ll leave a trail that he can find.  Where ever you go, I can follow._

_He remembers bashing in the heads of the maimed bandits, hearing their gurgled pleas as they begged for a semblance of mercy.  But they had their chance when asked them to stop at Mother’s Virgil.  Their lives were, by default, forfeit to the Death Seeker._

* * *

 

 

Rost’s mother had taught him how to hunt.  He doesn’t remember much of her now, but what he can recall is greatness.  His mother was one of the best hunters the Nora had ever seen and she had transferred her skills to her only son.  It had been difficult, living in the shadows of such a great woman but with his victory in the Proving he had gained the respect of all the Nora through his own hard work without simply being associated to his mother.

 

As a younger Brave, he was bold and eager to continue to build his legacy.  The former Brave always volunteered himself for the most dangerous of hunts and daunting invasions.  Yet unlike other reckless younglings, Rost was famous for using his mental acuity to best his opponents and not solely raw power and strength.  It was this unique combination of mind and body that had caused his life partner to be attracted to the Brave, eventually leading to their permanent union as a mated couple.  She had been a fierce yet controlled hunter, and it was this dichotomy between the two that had caused them to connect so intimately.  At that point in his life, Rost had considered it the happiest day of his life.

 

* * *

 

 

_He encountered four more of the bandits only two months later deep within the frosty mountain ranges of Ban-Ur, desperately trying to hide in a place where everyone was a stranger to everyone else. It had done them no good—for a hunter like Rost no trail was imperceivable.  When he found the four savages, they were asleep, huddled near each other in tents to keep warm during the harsh blizzard.  He didn’t want to wake them, what did it matter?  They were dead anyways._

_Grabbing his sling, he loads it with a fire bomb and lets it fly straight into the center of the tents, causing them all to immolate almost immediately.  The heat and the pain from the flames must have caused the bandits to wake and they came screaming out of their shelters, their bodies ablaze.  He watched them try to roll the flames out in the snow but the damage was done, the fat they had coated their tents and sleeping equipment with had only helped burn the conflagrations faster—ultimately proving hasten their downfall._

_Once most of the inferno went out, he walked up to the four burned bodies, inspecting them for any sign of life.  When he found none, he turned away, leaving the charred corpses for the wild animals to feed on.  They deserved no burial._

* * *

 

 

Rost and his mate were together for three years before she became pregnant with Alana.  Previous pregnancies had ended in miscarriage, and so they both viewed this as a blessing from the All-Mother.  Surely their hunt that year had turned their fortunes, thus permitting them to keep this child.  For the most part, it was an easy pregnancy.  There were few complications and any that arose were masterfully managed by the skilled Nora healers.

When Alana was born, it was during the winter, when food was scarce and the weather too harsh for anything to survive out on its own.  Both parents worried about keeping their daughter warm and fed during the harsh winter but had expertly maneuvered any difficulties.  After the winter had passed, their daughter’s inquisitive nature had shown—moving around the cabin at a fast crawl and exploring everything she could.  Both the parents knew that this child was going to be a handful—and they couldn’t happier.

 

* * *

 

 

_Slaying the rest of the bandits became a blur.  A goring here, a hanging there, all the ways he killed the twelve invaders differed but somehow ended up being equally satisfying.  The Death Seeker knew that what he was doing abhorrent but no longer cared. He wanted this, needed this to soothe the howling in his soul.  He was revenge personified, and the Nora would see the fruits of his labor.  The deeds he committed would scare any would be intruders away._

_The final man he killed was the leader of the twelve.  Rost had found him attempting to assault a young woman in Carja lands.  The bandit leader had cornered her and was about to attack the helpless victim when his lower spine was struck by a well-placed arrow.  The bandit had turned around, and when he saw the Death Seeker approach him, he had paled in fear.  Never had the invader thought that his final reckoning would return, that the mad man would be able to find him again.  He had tried to run away, and had fought valiantly despite his injury, but Rost easily caught him, slashing away chunks of  the bandit’s flesh slowly as he did so.  Soon, the bandit was a conglomerate of cuts and bruises, slowly bleeding out as he pitifully attempted to crawl away from his fate.  When the man could no longer move but still showed signs of life, Rost picked up his motionless body and threw him over the fence of a pigsty.  They could have the rest of the garbage._

* * *

 

Hollow.  That is the word that best described the man that used to Rost.  As he wanders around, bloodied, battered, and exhausted from completing his year-long ordeal, he no longer has anything left.  He killed and avenged the deaths of his mate and daughter, but now what else does he have?  He has no family, no land, no identity, and therefore to him, no purpose.  Whatever used to be Rost of the Nora is now just a husk.  Yet for whatever reason, as he traverses through Day Tower’s massive buildings, his blood and feet carry him back to the Sacred Lands, despite the fact that he was an outcast.  And one to kill at that.  But he doesn’t care.  He just wants to go home—perhaps to die in the lands that raised him. 

 

He officially crosses into Nora lands, looking over the valley and village that used to be his home.  Nature had reclaimed what was previously a human settlement.  Grass grew over the roofs, birds and animals made their homes in the houses, and machines patrolled though the buildings without being spooked.  He was home and yet he was a stranger on foreign lands.

 

The Death Seeker managed to creep his way around the Sacred Lands for a few days, scavenging food and looking for shelter when he could find it.  On the third day, he collapsed near the river that flowed to Mother’s Heart, his body out in the open where anyone could see it.  As he fades from the world, he sees the shadow of an old woman walk up to him, leaning down and staring at him with intent and curiosity.  She reaches into her basket and pulls something out, but Rost passes out before he can see what the object is.  _So, this is how it finally ends._

 

* * *

 

 

It was the chants of the Matriarchs that awoke Rost from his slumber.  Shaking out the stiffness in his body he takes note of his surroundings, realizing that he lies within Mother’s Watch, the location of All-Mother Mountain.  Taken aback at his trespassing in the Sacred Lands, Rost attempts to leave when a voice calls out to him to stop.

 

“Where are you going, Rost?  You know there’s nowhere to hide.”

 

Looking to the source of the voice, Rost sees Teersa walking towards him, a small smile on her face.

 

“Matriarch Teersa, my apologies.  I know that I was not allowed back in the Sacred Lands as a Death Seeker but I couldn’t help return.  I figured that perhaps my death would be best served if I died where I was born.  I will—”

 

Teersa cuts him off, raising her hand.  “I understand your apprehension about this situation, Rost.  But your story was exceptional.  You left for our tribe’s honor, not because you were a young Brave eager to just explore the world.  I have persuaded the other Matriarchs to make an exception for your case.”

 

“What do you mean?  There shouldn’t be an exception for me, I should have been killed!  I will bring shame to the Nora way if I stay here.”

 

“I don’t believe that for one moment, Rost,” Teersa says gently.  “You being here is an omen.  For what, I do not know.  But I believe that the All-Mother has a plan for you in the future, and I am eager to see what it is.  Please, I ask of you to live as an outcast in the Embrace.  It’s not the best situation but it will allow you to live in the lands that you honored so selflessly.”

 

Shocked at the development, Rost can only kneel in honor at the Matriarch’s words.  “Matriarch Teersa, I thank you for the opportunity.  I have no idea how to express how much gratitude I have towards you but—”

 

“No, no!  Stand up! You don’t have to bow to me, Rost.”  She begins walking towards the cabin door, ushering at him to follow.  “We have set up a home for you at the edge of the Embrace.  You will live there, as an outcast. The only condition I ask of is that you do not tell people about the exception we made for you.  Doing so will cause you to be cast out—permanently.”

 

“I understand, Matriarch.  Your decision is safe with me.”

 

Teersa smiles and hands Rost a small bag of provisions that was bequeathed to her by a young Nora huntress.  “Here, these are for you.  Use them to help you get to your new base.  May All-Mother bless you on your path, Rost.”

 

Rost takes the bundle, bowing again.  “Thank you, Matriarch Teersa.  This may be the last time I ever talk to you again but you have done more for me than you can possibly know.  I may not be able to speak but my actions will mean more than my words.

 

Teersa laughs at Rost’s finality, it was clear she did not have the same idea.  “No need for finalities, Rost.  Besides, I have the feeling that we will be in touch very soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

The journey to the cabin was slow but Rost didn’t mind.  He loved seeing the green of the Embrace, how alive it was.  He forgot how much he missed the scenery he grew up with.  He may be alone for the rest of his life but now, with a new purpose, he was truly alive.  As much as the valley was alive, so was he.

 

He finally reaches the cliff that contained his new lodgings.  The plot of land is nothing spectacular.  It’s holed up in a gated fence and has a small firepit and training area—but it’s perfect for him.  Opening up the cabin door, he sees the furnishings.  A simple table and chairs, bed, and work bench adorn the area, barren but also an opportunity to make it his own.  He sets down the provisions and walks outside to his land, looking down at the valley below from the cliff face out front.  There is nothing more beautiful than seeing the entire Sacred Land bathed in the sunset of day.  Sitting and observing the sights he realizes how lost he truly was for a year.  Now, he is home.


	5. Epilogue

Teersa had found the infant because of her cries.  _Who knew that such a small whelp could make such a noise?_

 

Lansra and Jezza had wanted to throw her out to the wild immediately—she had no mother after all and no one was sure what this omen meant.  Found mysteriously in All-Mother mountain and right beneath the feet of the Goddess, the infant might as well have been a demon.

 

Teersa disagreed and couldn’t find it in herself to throw the child to the wilderness. But maybe she could give her to an outcast instead.

 

* * *

 

 

She had the same color eyes as Alana did.  Green with flecks of brown.  Soulful eyes, eyes that could tell a story without even speaking.

 

Rost was hesitant at first, he felt the burden of caring for a child that was destined to be shunned and hated simply because of her birth.  He felt apprehensive too—his last child had died.  What makes him think he would be a good father again?

 

Teersa scolded him for such thoughts.  She knew what he could be, and what he was capable of.  In the end, she gave him a choice, but when Rost thinks back on it, he really was the one who had come to the decision before Teersa had even tried to really convince him.

 

After putting the babe to bed after the first week with her, Rost knows he’s made the right choice.  This is his redemption, and he will make the most out of it.  He even has a name in mind too, a title that will make this child legendary no matter where she went.  Even if she could never speak to the other tribesmen or leave the Sacred Lands, the young Nora was destined for greatness.  His instinct never led him astray.   He feels pride looking at her sleeping form and reaches out to cup her head, a wave of love for the child that redeemed him.

 

“It looks like it’s just you and me, little one.  I promise that I’ll be your teacher and your support, you will never want for anything while I am around.  Know always that wherever you go, I will follow.”


End file.
